


Bare

by ohmarqueliot



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 06:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot/pseuds/ohmarqueliot
Summary: The shower used to be bigger, and without magic it was only just large enough for the both of them to fit comfortably. Eliot was still facing the wall when he stepped into the shower, but once he closed the shower door behind him he turned, immediately pulling Quentin into the stream of the shower and wrapping his arms around him. Quentin froze – he was expecting innuendo and flirting and… something, but not this, not… The back of his throat started to burn, and he slowly moved his arms to encircle Eliot’s waist. Eliot’s hand on the back of his head guided him closer until his cheek rested on his chest, and he let out a long breath as he felt that tightness in his chest start to loosen.Post 3x06. The first thing on Eliot's mind once they get to Earth is a shower. Quentin is still struggling with Benedict's death and his time under the effect of the depression key.





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> We're just going to pretend that Alice wasn't seizing when they got back from Fillory... because I forgot about that when I decided to set this here.

Stepping out from the clock, Quentin quickly moved out of the way to give the others room to get through. Poppy laughed as she stepped onto Earth for the first time in years, but Eliot and Margo walked past her with much less enthusiasm. Dropping their matching sacks unceremoniously on the floor, they collapsed together on the couch and Quentin followed suit, dropping onto the chair opposite them and raking his hands over his face.

All he wanted was sleep. And for the last few days to never have happened.

That thought had been on repeat for the last few months.

Dropping his hands with a heavy sigh, he forced his thoughts back to the here and now, eyeing the sacks carefully. Margo and Eliot were still sprawled on the other couch, their limbs tangled together and looking like they weren’t planning on moving any time soon. Poppy was snooping around the cottage, and he felt a mild irritation at her nosiness but not enough that he could be bothered to stop her. “So, what’s actually in the bags?” he asked instead.

With a groan, Margo pushed and prodded Eliot until he moved enough for her to sit up. He turned, lying with his head on the armrest, one leg over Margo’s lap while the other fell to the floor. “I meant it when I said hostages,” Margo said, nudging the bag with her toes. “Let’s see what the Fairy Bitch thinks when we tell her we’re making omelettes with her Fairy Bitch children.”

“Wait,” he said slowly, frowning at the sacks. “Actual fairy children?”

“Fairy mushroom fetuses,” Margo explained, like it actually explained anything.

Eliot shrugged. “You know, the usual.”

Quentin looked between them, looking for some hint that they were having him on, and then shook his head in exasperation. He shouldn’t be surprised. He also really didn’t want to look in the bag.

“Wait, do you mean like actual fairies?” Poppy said, walking over to perch on the edge of a nearby chair.

As one, Eliot and Margo turned to stare at Poppy with equal expressions of confusion. “Who are you again?”

“I’m Poppy,” she said brightly, either oblivious to Eliot’s disinterested tone or else just not caring. “I went to school here.”

Quentin raised his eyebrows at her, unable to believe that she could just _sit there_ and be so goddamned fucking cheerful after everything that had just happened. “Yeah, and she’s also the reason Benedict’s dead,” he said flatly, his anger flaring further when she didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

Margo stiffened, her eye flashing. “Fucking what?” she said quietly, her voice like ice.

Rolling her eyes, Poppy waved her off, and Margo’s eyebrows shot up in response. “Technically,” Poppy said, turning to Quentin, “you’re the one who told him to stop me by any means necessary and that’s when he grabbed the key, so…” Drawing out the word, she shrugged, clearly alleviating herself of any of the blame.

Quentin opened his mouth to protest, but held back the words when Eliot swung his legs around, sitting up properly and leaning forward. “You got the key?” he asked intently.

Scowling, Quentin glared at Poppy a moment longer before he turned to Eliot and Margo, who was leaning in towards him with the same desperate look in her eye. He wished he had better news for them. “We had a key. The dragon swallowed it up with Benedict.”

Margo sank back onto the couch. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Eliot said with a sigh. He stood. “But right now, I can’t think with this much Fillorian muck on me. I need a _shower_ ,” he said, his voice practically vibrating with want.

Quentin perked up slightly – that was something he could handle. And he was kind of desperate for one himself, with his skin crusted with sea and salt and sweat. “I, um. Your key is still in my room,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet and followed Eliot up the stairs, leaving Poppy alone with Margo. His distrust for her went bone deep, but despite the unsettling feeling that someone should keep an eye on her, he also didn’t care if she disappeared out the front door and none of them ever saw her again.

A few people had got it into their heads that if Eliot wasn’t coming back, then his stuff was free game, so he’d fixed a lock to his bedroom door and hid the key. He retrieved it from his room and met Eliot at his bedroom door, turning the key in the lock and pushing the door open for Eliot to walk through. Eliot’s bedroom was, Quentin hoped, just like he’d left it, and he let out a small sigh of relief when Eliot looked around his room and visibly relaxed. He headed straight for the bathroom, and Quentin paused when he remembered one thing that would be missing. “Hang on… I did steal your towels,” he admitted, walking backward towards the door.

Turning with his hand on the bathroom door, Eliot grinned at him from across the room. “Quentin Coldwater: thief,” he said, sounding absolutely delighted.

Quentin shrugged sheepishly. “The regular ones are scratchy, and yours are so soft,” he protested, unable to keep from smiling when Eliot continued to grin at him. “Wait, I’ll get them for you.”

The towels were hidden in his own bathroom cupboard, and when he returned to Eliot’s room with them tucked under one arm Eliot’s bathroom door was ajar and he could hear the sound of the shower running. “El?” he said, pushing the bathroom door open slightly but hesitant to walk straight in. Things were different between them since the memories of a life that they never lived had hit them like a rush, but they hadn’t had the time to figure out how different. His feelings were different. Not stronger, but… steadier. He felt steadier.

Most of the time, anyway. There was a tightness in his chest that hadn’t gone away since he’d first woken up with his own malicious voice in his head, and that unsettled feeling made him lean into his uncertainty.

“Are you just going to stand in the doorway all day?” Eliot said, the dryness in his voice obvious over the sound of the water, and Quentin took a deep breath, pushing aside his nerves. This was _Eliot_.

Slipping into the bathroom, he closed the door behind him. Balancing the towels on the vanity, he leaned back against it beside them, letting his eyes drift toward the shower. The frosting of the glass door was opaque enough that he could see the rough shape of Eliot’s body through the screen as he lifted his arms to lather his hair but none of the detail, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly averting his eyes. “I, um. Towels.”

_Smooth._

“Thanks, Q.” There was a splash of water and Quentin glanced up before he could stop himself to see the vague shape of Eliot smoothing back his wet hair as he rinsed it out. “I’m never going to take showers for granted again,” he said with a groan.

“I’m pretty sure you said that last time,” Quentin pointed out. He was pretty sure he’d said that every time he’d come out of the shower during his random and short visits to Earth.

Eliot hummed appreciatively. “True. But it feels like it’s been decades since I had a proper shower so it counts extra this time.”

Quentin was quiet as his eyes dropped back to the ground. He knew exactly what he meant… but with that realisation came a pang of longing for those simpler times. It was a life he hadn’t lived, but he remembered it so clearly, and he would have given anything in that moment to be right back in Fillory’s past, showers or no.

“I’m just happy to get out from underneath the fairies for five minutes,” Eliot sighed, oblivious to Quentin’s sinking mood. “Thank god that Fillory’s time still works differently than on Earth – hopefully she won’t even notice we’re gone. Quentin, she’s growing an _army._ On my land. In my orchard – except it’s not an orchard anymore, is it, it’s a fucking mushroom farm. And the whole kingdom has no clue what’s going on.” There was a pause, and Quentin took a deep breath, forcing his focus on to what Eliot was telling him. He hoped that whatever he and Margo had planned to do with the… mushroom fairy babies would give them some leverage over the Fairy Queen. It felt like they were getting attacked on all sides. All he could do was figure out how to get the key back – hopefully Penny might know something.

The thought of the key… what it had done, how Benedict had died – the fact that Benedict was _dead_ , yes because of Poppy but also because of him – hit him again like a blow to the gut, and he shrank back against the vanity, clutching at the edge of it with both hands. He didn’t need the key to sink to his darkest self, not with all of those memories so fresh in his mind. The look on Benedict’s face before he gave in to his dark thoughts… His chest tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull himself together and centre himself on the tone of Eliot’s voice.

Except Eliot had stopped speaking. He heard the sound of the shower door open, with the water still running. “Q?” Eliot said gently, his voice so soft that it was hard to hear above the falling water. “Come here.”

Quentin forced himself to look up and found Eliot watching him from around the shower screen, his face solemn. He wanted to leave but he also very much did _not_ want to leave, he just wanted… to not feel this weight anymore. Slowly, he took a step toward the shower and then another, stopping right in front of Eliot, who still stood inside the shower, his head poking around the screen. Eliot’s fingers were wet as they cupped his cheek, leaving a trail of water over his skin as he reached up to brush his hair out of the way. Quentin leaned into the touch, closing his eyes against the wave of exhaustion and longing and relief that flowed through him at the slightest hint of comfort. Eliot’s fingers sifted through his hair before coming to rest against the side of his neck.

“Come on,” he said after a minute, his voice just as soft but his tone a little lighter. “Get in.”

Opening his eyes, Quentin stared up at him in confusion. “What?”

Eliot huffed, a small smile playing around his lips. “Seriously, you’re as gross as I was.” Quentin still hesitated, unsure what this was, unsure what they were, scared of reading the situation wrong. After a moment Eliot sighed. “I can’t make you feel better when I’m in here and you’re out there,” he said flatly, “and I’m not getting out of this shower for an excessive amount of time. So. Get your ass in here.”

Dropping his hand, Eliot closed the shower door and turned around, stepping right into the spray of water, and Quentin felt warm affection spreading through him. Slowly, he pulled off the navy jacket, stepped out of the trousers, and peeled himself out of the underwear, letting it all fall into a pile beside Eliot’s neatly folded clothes.

The shower used to be bigger, and without magic it was only just large enough for the both of them to fit comfortably. Eliot was still facing the wall when he stepped into the shower, but once he closed the shower door behind him he turned, immediately pulling Quentin into the stream of the shower and wrapping his arms around him. Quentin froze – he was expecting innuendo and flirting and… something, but not this, not… The back of his throat started to burn, and he slowly moved his arms to encircle Eliot’s waist. Eliot’s hand on the back of his head guided him closer until his cheek rested on his chest, and he let out a long breath as he felt that tightness in his chest start to loosen.

The water was hot against his bare skin, and the pressure was like heaven. Eliot’s fingers started to trace idle patterns up and down his back, and Quentin sank further into against him, closing his eyes and just letting himself feel something close to peace. His skin was so smooth under the water, his arms strong and firm around him, and he rubbed his cheek across his chest, hoping Eliot didn’t mind the scratch of his stubble because the feel of his soft skin against his face felt so soothing. His hands started to move over Eliot’s back, sliding over the wet skin. He suddenly became very aware of the slick feeling of their chests pressed together, of Eliot’s face against his hair… of the interested stirring of his cock. Quentin leaned further into him instinctively, and his eyes flew open at the feeling of a hardness touching against his stomach.

Pulling away quickly, Eliot’s hands gripped his shoulders and spun him around before he could see for himself, and he found himself facing the shower door. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” he asked, his voice gravelly. Suddenly nervous, Quentin resisted the overwhelming urge to glance back at him. He heard the familiar sound of the plastic lid of a bottle snapping open, and a moment later a firm touch was massaging shampoo into his hair. The feeling of Eliot’s fingers against his scalp was so erotic that a wave of want flowed through him right to his hardening cock. He fought to keep his breathing even when Eliot pulled him back under the spray of the shower, his hand cupped across his hairline keeping the water from washing the shampoo into his eyes.

Another bottle, and Eliot’s hands worked conditioner through the lengths of his hair, pulling every now and then as his fingers caught on a knot, but his obvious care and his gentle touch caused a lump of a different kind to form in Quentin’s throat. The simple act of someone taking care of him was almost too much, and he didn’t know how to put his relief and gratitude into words. “El,” he said, faltering when he realised he didn’t know where to go from there.

“I know,” Eliot said softly, pressing warm lips against his shoulder in a chaste kiss that nevertheless caused his breath to catch. A moment later his lips were replaced by the slightly scratchy feel of a shower sponge as Eliot started working it over his skin in small circles, building a lather over his shoulders. The smell of citrus filled the shower as he worked his way down one arm and then the other. Quentin sighed quietly at the feel of the sponge and Eliot’s hands working over his back, and held his breath when his soapy hand slid over his ass, but he didn’t linger.

Eliot’s touch was intimate and thorough, driving everything out of Quentin’s mind except for the feeling of his hands on his skin. Eliot was quiet as he moved down his legs and back up again, and Quentin was rock hard and trembling with anticipation when he skipped over his groin and swiped the sponge over his stomach with long, slow movements. He could hear Eliot’s breathing right next to his ear over the sound of the shower, and it was impossibly and gratifyingly uneven. Unable to take it anymore, Quentin leaned back into Eliot, feeling his hard cock against his ass and thrilling at the sharp intake of breath in his ear.

The sponge hit the shower floor with a wet _thwack,_ and Quentin moaned loudly when Eliot’s soapy hand wrapped firmly around his erection. “Fuck,” he gasped, trying to press back against Eliot and forward into his hand at the same time, his brows knitting together at the hot-wet-slick feel of his grip surrounding him. Eliot’s other arm slipped around waist, holding him close as he jerked him off with slow, steady movements, his mouth on his neck, teeth tugging at his ear drawing another moan from him. “Is this still just to make me feel better?” he managed with a desperate laugh.

“It’s to make you feel better… and because I missed you,” he said, his voice thick as he ground against him from behind, groaning lightly and tightening his grip around his cock. “And because I _want_ you.”

Desperate for _more,_ Quentin span around and pushed Eliot back into the wall, pressing in hard against him and kissing him with all of the pent-up _everything_ he was struggling to keep a handle on. None of it mattered except for the feeling of Eliot on his lips, the taste of him on his tongue, the hungry way his mouth clung to his as they tried to crawl into each other. He lined his body up with Eliot’s, feeling the slip smooth of his skin against his, moaning into his mouth as Eliot reached between them and took them both in his hand. Quentin thrust into his grip, against Eliot’s cock, grasping at his arms, his shoulders, his neck as he tried to find purchase. Eliot’s other hand held firm at his hip, reaching around to grip his ass and pull him closer, as if closer was possible.

Gasping for breath, Quentin let his forehead drop down to Eliot’s shoulder, a strangled sound falling past his lips when Eliot’s mouth moved to his neck, kissing and licking and sucking and oh my fucking god driving him crazy. He shifted so his hand wrapped completely around his cock and started to stroke him faster. He twisted his wrist, rolled his thumb over the head, alternated between long, firm strokes and short fast pumps. He wanted to… to take him in his hand, to bring that same reaction out of him, but he was already clutching him close and moaning in his ear, and it was all Quentin could do to hold onto him and stand upright. And then – fuck, he couldn’t – “I, uh – El, I – oh fuck.” He was right there already, his balls tightening before his whole body stiffened, his hips jerking forward as pleasure shot through him, crying out as he spilled into Eliot’s hand.

He was breathing heavily, his face pressed to Eliot’s neck and his legs like jelly. Both of Eliot’s hands were on his hips, holding him close, and he could feel the press of Eliot’s erection against his stomach and the steady stream of water against his shoulder. He felt… light, in a way that he hadn’t felt in far too long. He huffed a laugh into Eliot’s skin and felt his hands tighten on his hips in response. “I’d ask you if you’re all right, but I think I can guess the answer to that,” Eliot said, his grin clear in his voice, and Quentin responded by lifting his head and kissing him slowly, thoroughly as he took him in his hand. Eliot’s cock jumped in his grip and Quentin stroked it for a few seconds before pulling away, delighting in the way Eliot whined into his mouth before he kissed him one last time and then dropped to his knees.

Supporting him between his thumb and his forefinger, Quentin held him still as he kissed his way up the side of his cock, pausing when he reached the tip before he parted his lips and slowly took him in as far as he could. Drawing back almost to the tip, he sank down again and then picked up the pace, shifting his hand to stroke what his lips couldn’t reach.

Blinking the water from his eyes, he looked up at Eliot and caught his eyes like fire on him. His brow furrowed and something close to a whimper fell from his lips. Inspired, Quentin pulled back to wrap his tongue around the tip, sucking on it firmly as his tongue flicked against his frenulum, and he felt a shudder go through Eliot’s body. Eliot’s hands sank into his hair, his fingers flexing against his scalp but still giving Quentin free rein, and he shivered at the way his grip tightened when he took him in as far as he could again. He had a lifetime full of memories of this but his body was out of practice, and he couldn’t take him in as deep as he’d like.

_Next time._

The tiles were biting into his knees, but there was no way he was moving for anything, not with the guttural sounds falling from Eliot’s lips. Eliot started to thrust forward into his mouth, his moans changing in pitch, then he threw his head back against the shower wall, his body trembling as he came. Quentin swallowed down his release, lessening the suction and pulling back slightly but continuing to move over him with a light touch until he slumped back against the wall. “Oh fuck, Q,” he said breathlessly.

Eliot’s hands found his and helped him to his feet and into his arms, pressing a lazy kiss to the side of his head. Quentin sighed contentedly against his shoulder. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, felt his chest rise and fall with every deep breath, and that alone would have steadied him if he weren’t already feeling boneless from his orgasm.

“We should probably get out,” he said eventually, despite his reluctance to be anywhere but here. “There’s no magic to keep the water hot nonstop, remember. Everyone else –“

“Fuck everyone else,” Eliot said, his voice quiet but cheerful as he smoothed his hand down his back in a way that had Quentin melting even further into him, if that were possible. He agreed with the sentiment, at least – he didn’t want to move. But still…

“Well I don’t know about you, but bed sounds just as good as a shower right now. Or food. God, I’d kill for something other than salt-dried beef or fish.”

Eliot’s arm tightened around his shoulders again. “In a minute,” he murmured, turning his head into Quentin’s neck, and Quentin found it impossible to deny him. He knew the real world was waiting for them out there, all of his worries and fears and sadness, and he didn’t want it. He just wanted this. He pressed himself closer to Eliot, their bodies flush, the warm water still raining down around them.

“Yeah, okay,” he said softly. “In a minute.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
